


Hand to Hand

by taketheblanket



Series: Power Play [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hand Jobs, Jealously, M/M, Power Dynamics, Size Difference, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketheblanket/pseuds/taketheblanket
Summary: Several days after spotting Gladiolus with another man, Noctis is still distracted by his jealousy.





	Hand to Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beforethequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforethequeen/gifts).



“Hand to hand?”

Noctis raises his eyebrows at Gladio, but lets his coach pull the wooden broadsword from his hand anyway.

“In what circumstance would I, the Prince of Lucis, Son of Regis, end up without a sword?”

Gladio rolls his eyes before turning to hang their swords back on the wall. He tosses a roll of tape to Noctis, who catches it and watches Gladio wrap long strips of tape around his palms before doing the same.

“That kind of arrogance may get you killed someday, Prince.”  

“Then you wouldn’t have done your job then,” Noctis says, hurling the roll of tape back at Gladio, who catches it one handed despite its speed. 

“I’m _trying_ to do my job right now, brat,” he says, approaching Noctis on the mat. “If the Crystal ever fails you, you’re totally screwed. You need to be able to fight with your hands.”

He punctuates this statement by getting into position, his big fists balled in front of his chest. Noctis lets his eyes trail over Gladio’s bulky frame, at his inky wings emerging from his tanktop at the sliver of skin visible just above the waist of his sweats. He shifts from foot to foot, threatening, waiting. Noctis feels a flutter of excitement. He feels a jolt of fear.

“I think you just want an excuse to touch me,” Noctis tells him, mirroring his posture, small hands raised to block his face from the long reach above him.

Gladio huffs.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he tells him. “You’re not my type.”

Noctis swings.

Gladio blocks the first couple blows, catching Noctis’ small fist in his open palm each time, tossing the Prince’s hands away from them every time they get too close. Eventually, he throws Noctis off balance, and he has to warp to the edge of the room to narrowly avoid Gladio as he lunges for him.

He wants to be caught, just not _yet._  

Catching his breath on the side of the room, Noctis watches Gladio turn to face him and is once again struck with the image that has been haunting him for three days: Gladio’s big body, pressing a nameless Glaive into an alcove of the Citadel, sucking at his neck. Noctis had become frozen in place walking down the hallway, unable to look away. Even when Gladio felt the pull of his gaze and met his eyes over his shoulder, shock rendered Noctis into stone. They made eye contact for a few moments longer, Gladio’s hips rutting up against the soldier, Noctis’ face burning hot, before the other man dragged Gladio away and through an open door.

As soon as Noctis had recovered, he began teasing Gladio relentlessly about it.

“What is your type, then?” Noctis asks. “Buzzcut blonde? Stone-faced soldier? Or is it just anyone who’ll suck your cock in an alleyway?”

Noctis can hear Gladio’s breath let out fast through his nose.

“I said no warping,” Gladio answers.

“You did _not,_ ” Noct protests, intentionally warping back to close the distance between them and get a better look at Gladio’s irritated expression.

“I _implied_ it.”

“That’s _entirely_ different,” Noctis tells him, posturing before him.

This time, Gladio swings for him, and Noctis has speed on his side, that even without warping he is able to dodge Gladio’s blows. Still, he can feel the mass of his fist rocket past his face time and time again, the wind from it cool on the sweat that begins to trickle down Noctis neck from the effort.

They dance for a while, each taking turns pushing the opponent across the mat, well-blocked blows occasionally interrupted by a successful hit, making Gladio grunt or causing Noctis to swear. When Gladio strikes his stomach, however, Noctis stumbles a few steps back and leans over his knees, one hand up towards Gladio to request a moment. Noctis knows Gladio is pleased with his fighting today because he actually lets him breathe and he preens just a little at the unspoken praise.

“I could forbid it you know,” Noctis says through his panting, looking over at Gladio through his long bangs. “Tell you that you can’t.”

Gladio’s eyes become calculated, and he studies a Noctis for a moment before lunging at him. Noctis warps out of the way and then gestures in the air like he didn't mean to. Regardless, Gladio grunts and snakes an open hand toward him, locking it around his bicep. He squeezes.  

“Why would you do that, Noct?” Gladio asks him, his expression complicated, his narrowed eyes locked on his Prince’s face. Noctis stares up at him.

“My Shield shouldn’t let himself get distracted,” he says.

Noctis throws a punch towards Gladio’s face and Gladio has to release him to dodge it. With his other arm suddenly free, Noctis reaches forward and grabs Gladio by his shirt in an attempt to keep him within striking range. He catches him this time, his fist sliding off of Gladio’s jaw and down his damp neck. Gladio growls and pulls away from him, dragging Noctis forward by where his fingers are still knotted in his tank top. Gladio bows and shrugs backwards, causing Noctis to peel the article of clothing off of him, and leaving Noctis standing dumbfounded with the shirt in his hand.

“I'm not going to let you play dirty,” Gladio scoffs, standing naked from the waist up in front of him. Noctis takes in his chiseled form, his damp skin, his curious face. Hours and hours of throwing weights to build those muscles. Hours and hours beneath the needle for his half-finished tattoo. Hours and hours for his duty, for his Prince. Noctis cannot help but think about that nameless soldier, touching something that wasn’t his. The anger makes him burn beneath his sweaty clothes.

“But I _want_ to play dirty,” Noctis says tightly, letting the shirt fall from his fingers. His hands come to his own shirt, yanking the material over his head and tossing it aside. The cool air hits his wet skin and ripples across him. He’s not sure he’s ever been topless in front of Gladio before. The way his Shield tilts his head to take him in causes his jealousy to fade, replacing it with something else. Gladio isn’t moving, just watching him, and Noctis can see his jaw tighten as he chews on his tongue in contemplation. Uncharacteristically shaky, Noctis brings his fists up to eye-level once more. 

“Look who's distracted now,” Gladio says lowly, in a gruff voice he has never used on Noctis before. Noctis feels it grumble all the way in his gut.

They’re on each other again and Noctis isn’t sure who made the first move. Their banter absent as the fight requires more and more of their attention. They pant and sweat and spar for several minutes. Their hands get lazy, fists softening into paws that allow them to grab and touch, sliding easily over dripping skin, unable to find purchase or remain in one place for too long. Gladio keeps trying to grab him, but Noctis slithers out of his grasp again and again, aiming blows for his abdomen and chest that don’t seem to do anything at all when they connect. Gladio has stopped trying to hit him back, and instead is focusing solely on trying to hold him still. Gladio is so close to him, with no swords and no warping pushing them apart. Their bodies circle around one another, close enough to feel his heat. With Gladio’s big hands grabbing at him repeatedly, Noctis _does_ find himself distracted.

He’s so hard it hurts.

And Gladio seizes the opportunity to take advantage of his lack of focus and Noctis finds himself flat on his back on the mat, Gladio’s massive weight pressing down into him, making it harder to breathe than it already was. Usually Gladio lets him go as soon as he gets him down, but today he remains over him, pinning him down with hands on his wrists and shins over his thighs. Noctis thrashes against his hold, delighting in the way that Gladio gets heavier with every moment of struggling he offers. When Gladio’s hips finally press into his, flattening his body against the mat, Noctis grunts, pressing his erection up towards Gladio, where he can feel his bodyguard’s hardness beneath his sweats. Gladio groans, dropping down on his elbows and rutting against Noctis beneath him.

“Not your type?” Noctis asks, his voice coming out more strained than he hoped it would, but his body is aching with desire and every roll of Gladio’s hips drags Noctis roughly towards his edge. Gladio doesn’t respond, but when Noctis hands land on his damp chest he opens his mouth against the prince’s neck and groans again. The feral sound of Gladio’s desire makes Noctis’ skin burn.

“Look at you,” Noctis sighs, his body beginning to soften and yield to the building pleasure. “I don’t think the Shield is supposed to be dry humping his Prince during practice.”

Briefly, Gladio stops, his strained breathing loud in Noctis’s ear. Noct’s dick twitches in his pants, begging for the friction to return and he arches his hips up into Gladio’s trying to grind up into his hardness and find the pleasure once more.

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Noctis groans, beating his fists weakly against Gladio’s chest. “I like breaking the rules.”

Gladio laughs, a lustful and disbelieving sound, pressed against the tender skin of Noctis’ neck. Noctis tilts his head and opens his neck to him. Gladio’s mouth opens and Noctis feels the most gentle drag of teeth over his throat before Gladio begins rolling into him again.

Noctis lets his hands slide over Gladio’s ribcage and around to his back, pressing his fingernails into his painted flesh, moaning softly when Gladio digs his hard cock between his thighs. He lets his legs fall open and he stares up at the familiar Citadel ceiling over them, holding onto the massive man while his body undulates on top of him, their torsos slick and hot where they press together. Suddenly breathless, Noctis struggles to tell him, “don’t touch anybody else.”

Obediently, evenly, immediately, Gladio answers him, “as you wish, Highness.”

Breathing erratically, the coil in his loins pulling rapidly tightening, Noctis claws at Gladio’s bare back and whispers, “touch me, Shield.”

“You got it,” he chuckles, and the low sound of his amusement makes Noctis smirk.

Gladio instantly pulls away from him, and Noctis reluctantly lets him go because he’s watching as Gladio rapidly peels the tape off of his right hand and reaches it between them. The mat beneath them artistically splattered with droplets of their sweat, smeared by the rolling of Noctis’ body across it. Gladio gropes at him through his sweatpants for just a moment, drawing a broken moan from Noctis’ lips, before he uses both hands and pulls Noctis’ shorts down to his thighs.

His cock is bright pink from friction, laying hard against his belly. Gladio looks down at him in awe and Noctis flushes, never having exposed himself to someone else like this before. Gladio’s attention makes his cock stand upright, reaching towards the man that hovers above him.

“Gladio,” Noctis says firmly.

“Sorry,” Gladio says, smiling to himself but not looking up at Noctis. He brings his right hand to lay open on the underside of his dick. “You’re pretty.”

The combination of contact and the compliment makes Noctis gasp, and his head falls back on the mat. Gladio presses his open hand towards his low belly, smashing his cock beneath his palm. Gladio’s big hand covers him entirely and Noctis loves feeling of being engulfed by him.

“Little,” Gladio says softly, fondly. Surprising himself, Noctis moans at the word, pressing said little cock up into the heat of his palm. He wants to say something, to bite back, but he cannot speak. Gladio’s hand rubs at him slowly, and the pleasure builds so quickly that Noctis is already drowning beneath it. Noctis can do nothing but stare at the ceiling and try to breathe. Gladio drags his open palm over Noctis’ arousal steadily and evenly.

Noctis comes before he can count to ten. He explodes beneath Gladio’s fingers, cum spilling out from beneath where his hand sprawls wide over his hips.

“Easy…” Gladio murmurs, slowly lifting his hand to his mouth and licking up the droplets of pleasure. Noctis watches him through heavily-lidded eyes, his body warm and weak from release.

“How does your Prince taste?” Noctis asks him, his voice low as he regains his breath. But Gladio doesn’t have the words, dutifully cleaning his hand with his tongue, amber eyes locked on Noctis’ face while he does.

“Little? Easy?” Noctis says softly. “But still in charge.”

Gladio pauses, lowering his hand from his face to study Noctis. He keeps looking at him like that, like he isn’t sure if he’s dreaming or not, and his wide pupils and slack lips make Noctis want to keep surprising him. He smirks darkly up and wriggles beneath him weakly, as if trying to scoot out from beneath Gladio’s grasp, and Gladio bears down on him, laying a forearm across his chest to hold him against the floor. Noctis’ mouth falls open in pleasure when he feels himself pinned down.  

“What,” Noctis teases, knowing his voice betrays his own enjoyment, “is there something you still want?”  

Gladio lowers his hips to Noctis’ once more and begins to hump into him again, faster, needier than before.

“Need to cum,” Gladio grinds out through his teeth.

“What are-- you waiting-- for?” Noctis asks, his words broken by the way Gladio bears into him on the mat, thrusts each breath out of him with the heavy weight of his arm across his chest.

“Permission,” Gladio growls.

Noctis’ eyes widen in surprise. He huffs out a breath.

“Let me see your cock, Shield.”

Gladio frantically shifts his weight onto just the arm across his chest and unceremoniously pulls his massive cock free from his sweats. Noctis wants to sit up on his elbows beneath him so he can look, but he can’t. He settles for craning his neck and his mouth goes dry at the sight. Gladio’s cock is huge and purple, roped with thick veins, capped with a swollen cockhead that glints where it leaks for him. He must be twice as long and three times as thick as Noctis is. Gladio’s hand grips around himself at the base and squeezes but does not move. The prince cannot look away from Gladio’s flesh, Gladio cannot look away from his prince’s face.

“Good,” he says. “Stroke it.”

He does, pumping his beast of a cock in long, languid strokes from base to tip. Noctis watches it pass through his blocky fingers, watches as Gladio squeezes precum out with each pull. It’s a glorious sight and the possession swells in Noctis anew.

“You belong to me,” Noctis tells him, and Gladio pumps his cock harder in response to the words.

“You _serve_ me,” Noctis reminds him. “You couldn’t say no to me even if you wanted to.” Gladio groans, and Noctis can tell he wants to close his eyes but he doesn’t. Amber orbs lock onto blue and while Noctis is saddened to be looking away from Gladio’s throbbing cock, he is taken by the look in his eyes, the way he can feel Gladio’s entire body shaking above him while he fucks his fist. Noctis’ hand falls to his own soft dick, rubbing at his over-sensitive flesh, letting the electricity flow between them.

“That’s right, you could never deny me,” Noctis coos. “Good Shield.”

Gladio sputters out an undignified grunt, and Noctis can tell from the erratic, quick way he works himself that he is close. Gladio presses the head of his cock beneath where Noctis’ hand tugs at his own spent flesh and Noctis moves his hand so that Gladio may rut their sex together.

“Highness…” Gladio groans, a request, his eyes finally fluttering shut against the effort.

“Cum for your Prince,” Noctis tells him quickly, his eyes darting back down to watch Gladio pump himself, the leaking cockhead prodding sloppily around Noctis’ sac.  

Gladio shouts when he explodes, the sound echoing through the high ceiling of the training room. He shoots cum across Noctis’ bare stomach and chest, leaning hard over Noctis and squeezing out every breath of air he’s got. He milks himself entirely, opening his eyes at the end to take in the bleary satisfaction on Noct’s face.  

“Clean me up,” Noctis demands, but Gladio is already leaning down over him, his tongue pressing against his prince’s flat stomach to lick away the remains of his pleasure.

Between broad strokes of his tongue over his navel, up to his ribs, tantalizingly close to his nipples, Gladio says, “as you command,” over and over again, his voice certain and sure, the rhythm of his words lulling Noctis into stupor. Noctis cannot help but whine quietly beneath him and he tries not to squirm while Gladio takes his time, licking him clean, erasing any evidence and at the same time, erasing any memories of soldiers in alcoves from Noctis’ mind.

Finally, the heavy arm across his chest releases him and Noctis is able to sit up. He takes a few deep breaths, his mind clearing with the return of oxygen, and he stands on weak legs, striding over to where his t-shirt lay on the mat. Gladio still sits on the floor, slowly putting himself away, watching Noctis with a look that holds both disbelief and fondness and if Noctis is going to play this the way he wants to, he has to look away from him. He bends down to grab his top

“Now that you know you’re mine,” Noctis says, slithering back into his t-shirt and only briefly glancing over at Gladio through his bangs. “Maybe you can come over later and make me yours.”

Gladio says nothing in his shock, sitting cross legged on the floor, his chest still heaving as Noctis grabs his things and leaves fifteen minutes before practice is supposed to be over.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on twitter @taketheblanket
> 
> part two soon


End file.
